


Weekend at Sanders’

by bourbonrain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gangbang, Group Sex, Hate Sex, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2020-11-10 17:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bourbonrain/pseuds/bourbonrain
Summary: I guess that chip on my shoulder remained even after all those years. I still remembered the way she turned that squat nose up at me, the ugly curl of her lips when she called me dirty and poor. This is all a roundabout way of explaining why I did what I did when I saw her for the first time in nearly a decade during that weekend at Sanders’.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PartyLines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PartyLines/gifts).

> I’m not sure why my brain came up with this story, but it did. I almost didn’t post it, but my dear friend, PartyLines, convinced me to share. Please beware of the dubious consent theme. It’s a lot even by my standards.

It all started when Fred set up the meeting with Sanders. 

Scratch that. 

I suppose the real beginning was back at Hogwarts when we were kids. Even as a kid, she was a raging bitch. I hated her. She never wasted an opportunity to sneer at my out-of-style robes, the frayed edges of my school books, even my goddamn freckles, as if freckles were a telltale sign of poverty. As if there was nothing more despicable in this world than being poor. 

She got under my skin, and it didn’t take long to figure out how to get under hers. Pug-nosed Pansy, I teased. The first couple of times, she turned away angrily and I caught the subtle shake of her shoulders as she walked away, and once, the swipe of her nose with her uniform sleeve. I got great satisfaction from making her cry. I wanted to cut her as much as she cut me. My little taunt caught on, and a couple of the boys in Gryffindor would press their fingers to their noses whenever she walked by, or making barking noises. Eventually, she perfected this upward roll of her eyes and snooty little scoff, like our insults glossed right off her. It only made me want to cut her deeper. Later, when she was falling all over herself fawning after Draco Malfoy, we started calling her Malfoy’s  bitch , followed by this panting sound, like a dog in heat. She deserved it. She had called my best friend a mudblood. 

After we finished school, after the war, the tabloids made her a socialite, or train wreck, depending on who you ask. Witch’s Weekly’s gossip column, run by my ex-girlfriend, Parvati Patil, had a field day detailing the Parkinsons’ fall from grace. First the Death Eater trials, then the fraud charges against Pansy’s mother, then the seizure of their assets. After some time, she and her horrible family faded from the tabloids. The last I heard, she was penniless, living abroad on the continent somewhere with distant relatives. And yeah, I was happy about it. 

I want to say I didn’t think about her much after that, but I guess that chip on my shoulder remained even after all those years. I still remembered the way she turned that squat nose up at me, the ugly curl of her lips when she called me dirty and poor. This is all a roundabout way of explaining why I did what I did when I saw her for the first time in nearly a decade during that weekend at Sanders. 

You see, the joke shop that my brothers had dropped out of school to start, and that I had dropped out of the auror department to join, has grown to be a blooming success. Not to brag or anything, but we have locations on every continent, and have quite successfully branched off into other industries. There’s Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, the original joke shop, which then spawned Weasley’s Wonky Wanderings (our travel or pharmaceutical subsidiary, depending on which entrance you use), Weasley’s Wonderful Wards (our security sector), and most recently, Weasley’s Wanton Wishes - our foray into the adult goods industry. And let me tell you, it’s been an interesting foray indeed. We’re in the process of developing high quality toys, potions, and elixirs to enhance one’s bedroom experience. Many products are developed based on muggle sex toys and ancient love potions. I would have paid more attention in school had Muggle Studies and History of Magic covered this stuff.

Most product designers, manufacturers, and distributors that we formed relationships with are as professional and polite as you get in any other industry. We have our usual meetings with the slide shows and the product demonstrations, interviews and brainstorm sessions and whatnot.

Then, you have Sanders. He owns a couple of high-end sex clubs, mostly BDSM stuff geared toward the rich and wacky. Case in point, Fred and Angie, who are as wealthy and “free-spirited” as they come, tried out one of his venues a few months ago, and have since become regulars. I personally didn’t see the appeal, prefer my sex life without the extra effort of handcuffs, but for research purposes, I went as well. I took this twenty year old waitress with amazing tits I’d met the weekend before at a nightclub in Berlin. If she thought it was weird I was taking her to a sex club on our first date, she certainly didn’t show it. She let me tie her up, opened her mouth when I took my cock out, and basically gargled my dick until I came on her chest. It was an alright experience, a nice orgasm and all but nothing that spectacular. All the bondage and whips and rituals seemed so contrived, like some piss-poor attempt to make slapping my dick on some bint’s face feel like more than it is. It isn’t. Fucking a stranger in a poncy sex club isn’t really any better than fucking one in the Three Broomstick’s bathroom. 

I said as much at that dinner with Sanders. I just didn’t get the appeal, didn’t think all the black and leather were on brand for us. By then, Fred and Angie had disappeared off to do Merlin knows what in some curated dungeon room. Despite how mischievous he was back in school, my brother takes our business seriously. He would never wander off in the middle of a work dinner for a tryst with his wife, but there was something about Sanders and his world that normalized, even encouraged this sort of deviancy. 

The thing you have to understand about Sanders is that he’s really a very likable bloke. He’s tall, but not too tall. Good looking, but not overly so. He comes across as approachable, manageable. He claps you on the back, invites you to his private bar for some rare edition firewhisky. He laughs good-naturedly when you drink too much and insult his business to his face.

“It isn’t about the props,” he said with this knowing smile.

“What is it about then?” I asked. “Control?”

“For some, yes.”

“I just don’t want to pigeonhole us with something so niche before we get off the ground,” I answered before downing the drink. I could hear myself slurring my words. 

He motioned for the bartender to pour me another, and I watched as the flame and liquid splashed into my glass.

“Try something for me, won’t you, Ron?”

“Mm?” 

“Come to my estate in Tuscany this weekend. It’s the perfect time of year for a stay at the villa. I’m hosting a rather debaucherous gathering for some of our elite members. Fred and Angelina are invited of course. You can partake in the revelry, or just enjoy the scenery, but there are some very special ladies there I want you to meet.”

I crushed my teeth together in a grin to hide my groan. Was this man seriously trying to buy me off with bimbos? 

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“Come now,” he pleaded. “Don’t tell me you have better plans.”

I thought about Malfoy’s birthday party that Hermione had invited me to on that upcoming weekend. I mean fine, she and I hadn’t been right for each other. I know I wasn’t the perfect boyfriend, never tried to be, wasn’t ready to make a real commitment, didn’t like talking about books and the greater good all the goddamn time. Plus I couldn’t take her constant nagging to push myself to do more important things for the world than run a joke shop. Our split was this passive aggressive little taper into being better off as friends. It took some time, but we’re genuinely good with each other now. 

Still, did she have to go and get engaged to Draco Malfoy? What’s worse is that the bugger turned out alright in the end. They had some romantic little adventure, a long boring story involving some chance meeting in South Africa, and now they can’t live without each other, blah blah blah. To make amends, he went so far as to personally apologize to me and every member of my family for all of his and his father’s wrongdoings. Yeah, he’s proper whipped, that one. Anyway, my point is, I didn’t really want to go to Malfoy’s poncy birthday party, so “work trip” to Tuscany it was.

“Alright, twist my arm,” I agreed. “How do I get a portkey?”

Fast forward a week later, and I found myself at Sanders’s villa in Italy. The property was impressive, extravagant, the sort of place teenage me secretly fantasized about owning one day. He had these scantily clad servers everywhere, holding trays of champagne and dildos and libido-boosting potions. After the initial cocktail hour, we sat down to a formal dinner. To my surprise (and relief, because it’s undeniably weird to be with your brother and his wife when they’re getting freaky), Fred and Angie were seated all the way at the other end of the table. 

I sat down at my name card and waited for the tart he hired for me. After some time, a pretty blonde sat down next to me. She smiled a lot and would throw her head back to laugh at jokes that weren’t really that funny. I was way too sober and clearly out of my element, so naturally, I downed my drink as quickly as possible. At least Sanders served good booze. 

Despite my initial reservations, I had reviewed the spreadsheets, knew what sort of profit margins his clubs generated. Not now, but in a year or two, a partnership might prove highly lucrative for both our ventures. Maybe I should have said as much to put Sanders’s mind at ease, but I liked the game, the back and forth of negotiations, the having the upper hand. It didn’t occur to me that he had Pansy fucking Parkinson up his sleeve. 

I didn’t even recognize her at first. The first thing that caught my eye were her tits, and then her arse. There were lots on display that night, but hers were truly spectacular. She looked like some comic book fantasy, scantily clad in this tight, dark green, lacy number. Around her neck was an impressive chain of thumbnail-sized emeralds. Her eyes were lined with heavy, black glittery stuff. Her lips were painted red and glossy. Her hair was in this sleek angular bob that made her high cheekbones seem more exotic than I remembered.

I think my jaw must have dropped a little when I realized who she was. Like an idiot, I couldn’t stop starring as she sauntered over in her fuck-me stilettos and sat down on the other side of me. Up close, she was beautiful, like actually quite possibly the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. And her nose - Merlin, she must have spent a fortune on glamours because that dainty little thing on her face was not what she had in our school days. 

“Enjoying the view, Weasley?” she asked smugly, with that same lilting posh accent I remembered from school.

“Good to see you finally did something about your pug face,” I answered reflexively. I couldn’t help it. I was always petty when it came to her, and it was indeed good to see that she’d gone through great lengths to rectify the flaw I teased her about. It meant I had gotten under her skin too. 

The corners of her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she didn’t react more than that.

“Tut tut,” she said with a smile. “Play nice, Ronniekins. After all, aren’t we in the same business now?”

I scowled. Before, I could reply, she turned to greet the bloke on the other side of her. Pansy was one of the last to arrive at the table, and dinner service began shortly after. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually wished I had just gone to Malfoy’s birthday party instead. The blonde kept trying to make small talk about the food, but I don’t remember a single thing they served during that dinner. Even the caviar tasted like sand. I think at some point, some models crawled naked across the table to serve dessert, but honestly, my mind was focused on Pansy and the shape of her hardened nipples through the thin fabric of her dress. After sitting down, she spent dinner chatting animatedly with everyone around her but me, which just made me more irritable.

Eventually though, after enough drinks, I warmed up to the idea of fucking the blonde, who was now rubbing my dick through my trousers. Sometimes, easy tarts are exactly what one needs in life.

It wasn’t until we were all sipping our digestifs that Sanders came over. My companion smiled and withdrew her hand when she saw him. I tried to not let my surprise show when she tilted her head back and let Sanders kiss her mouth, then her neck. And Pansy, well, she stood up and kissed Sanders possessively with tongue. My eyes fell to the arm he wrapped around her waist, and the easy way she leaned into him. 

“How are you enjoying yourself tonight, Ron?“ he asked. “You’re sandwiched between my two favorite pets.”

I worked my mouth into what I hoped was a casual smile. “Great party,” I answered politely. 

“Lucy, darling,” Pansy spoke up. “Won’t you excuse us a moment?”

Without a word, she got up and stepped aside. Then Pansy sat down in her seat, and Sanders sat down in Pansy’s original seat. I had the odd feeling that I was being circled by wolves. 

“Greg, my love, I’m afraid Weasley here may not enjoy my companionship much. You see, we have a bit of a past, something of a schoolyard tussle.” 

She looked at me as she said this and I gulped at the way her lips pouted slightly as she enunciated tussle. 

“Is that right, my pet?” he asked in a manner that didn’t sound like asking at all.

”Yes,” she said lightly. “I’m afraid he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“My, oh my,” he said with a hard glance her way. Then he looked at me. “Is this true?”

I might have imagined it, but for a split second, his eyes lost their usual twinkle before he clapped me on he back and smirked. 

“No matter,” he said, before I could reply. With a tilt of his head, he beckoned the blonde back to the table. “Why don’t you let Lucy here take you on a tour of everything we have to offer.”

”Sounds like a plan,” I answered. I had no idea what was going on, what had just transpired. I wouldn’t know until much later in the evening when I was balls deep in Pansy Parkinson, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

In the moment, I blinked bewildered as he fished a length of leather from his pocket. At the end was a clasp. He reached forward and latched it onto the choker around Pansy’s neck.

There was no mistaking the look of alarm on her face. It was clear she didn’t want this. I recognized the stiffening of her shoulders and the flaring of her now much delicate looking nostrils, and much expected her to fly into a sharp-tongues tirade like she would have in school. Instead, she only widened her eyes at him and shook her head ever so slightly. 

Sanders, on the other hand, had the same casual smile on his face, like it was no big deal that he had just leashed a woman and now pulling her so she was forced to get on her hands and knees on the marble floor.

“Enjoy your evening, Ron,” he said, then gave another sharp tug at Pansy, forcing her to crawl as he began strolling from the dining table. 

“Right, thanks. You too,” I said awkwardly.

If it were any other woman, I would have intervened. Obviously, she was being coerced and coercion is wrong, but this was Pansy snobby-face Parkinson, and I  liked seeing her degraded, liked watching her round arse sway as she scampered clumsily on hands and knees after Sanders. What’s more, I wanted it to be me that held her leash in my hands. 

By the time Sander stepped away, dinner had formally concluded, and most of the other revelers had rifled out of the dining room. I had forgotten the blonde was even there before she returned to stroking my now very, very hard dick. 

“My,” she said breathily. “I can’t wait to have you in my mouth.”

I’m usually a respectful partner, usually at least sort of care about the woman’s pleasure, but I didn’t give a fuck about this random bint who for all intents and purposes was a bribe to get me to sign some bloody contract. I gripped her by her hair, and of course she liked that or moaned like she did anyway, and pressed her facedown on the soiled dining table. Since she wasn’t wearing underwear, it only took half a second to whip out my cock shove it all the way inside of her. This isn’t bragging, or maybe it is, but I’m big down there. I usually can’t work my way into a pussy just like that, but she was so wet and had obviously taken her fair share of dick in her day, so I was soon pounding away inside of her and came quicker than I’m proud of. She acted like she was coming too, and no, I didn’t care that she was faking it.

Afterward, she smiled brightly and breathily helped me zip back up.

“That was a nice warm up,” she said, pleasantly. 

I had to give her props for her positive attitude.

“Thanks for that. You got me all worked up over dinner,” I replied, and even though I found her sort of annoying, I kissed her like a gentleman.

“Come on,” she said, smiling. “I have so much to show you.”

-

I was pretty drunk by the time Lucy began our tour of the villa. We walked by the ballroom, where some guests were dancing, and others were fucking. She swiped a bottle of gin from the bar there, and we took turns swigging as we walked by the enchanted baths, the various rooms that seemed to be fabric themed (leather, silk, velvet). I found myself giggling along with her inane chatter, and it was probably all the booze, but I was having fun. 

At some point, we ended up voyeurs to an orgy in the gardens. She got down on her knees to suck my dick, but I pulled her up and kissed her instead. She really was very pretty, and if Pansy hadn’t been at dinner, I would have been content to spend the weekend with agreeable little Lucy. But Pansy  was here, and here, she lived on a leash held by a man trying to win my favor. I couldn’t stop thinking about this, and I suppose that makes me no better than Sanders.

I think Lucy knew what I really wanted, because eventually, she took me down to the wine cellar. I heard the fucking long before I saw it, echoing against the cool, damp walls.

I don’t know what I expected to see. Based on the wails and grunts, maybe another cluster of naked bodies, pelvises thrusting, legs spread apart, mouths contorted open, all conjoined in some abstract chain. I was going to suggest we turn around, when I saw the scraps of dark green lace littering the long walk way. 

Abruptly, I could no longer focus on whatever Lucy was saying. All I could hear was my pulse in my head. I think I began to walk faster, because she had to trot to keep up with my longer stride. At the end of the passage was a turn into an empty foyer. There were four men in various states of undress, and in the middle speared between their thrusting cocks was my old classmate, her neck and wrists and ankles wrapped in iron restraints that were chained to the ground. There were red marks all over her body, handprints and what I presumed to be cane marks. Off to the side, Sanders was relaxed in a leather armchair, watching from a darkened corner with a sadistic little smile.

His face lit up when he saw us. “Fred gave me a sample of your latest aphrodisiac. Sure makes her hungry for cock, doesn’t it?”

I shook my head in confusion. Our latest aphrodisiac, Potion 84, was far from ready for live use. Why would Fred share this with Sanders? I turned my gaze back to Pansy, who was on all fours. She did look hungry, head tilted back and mouth gaped open for the cock being shoved in her mouth. On the other end, her legs were spread with her ass in the air, and some fit bloke in a rumpled tuxedo was ramming his dick into her.

A different bloke, fat and bald, moaned loudly then, and came on her back. 

“You’re one lucky man, Sanders,” he said after tucking himself back into his pants. “Thanks for sharing your pet.”

Sanders gave a little wave with two fingers, like it was nothing.

The man left, brushing past me on his way out. “Sanders never shares that one,” he said to me, conspiratorially. “Guess it’s our lucky night, eh?”

Just then, the guy in her mouth blew his loud on her face, and I swear to Merlin, she actually opened her mouth and tried to catch his cum. 

That was when she saw me. Her eyes were glazed over like she was high. I mean, she  was high. Potion 84 was originally meant to be a mild party drug, but was tabled after we found it to have unexpectedly strong side effects on one’s libido. Only recently did we make another batch, with intentions to modify it safely for our newest venture. 

Even through the drug’s effects, her body stiffened and recoiled a bit at the sight of me. I could tell she was going to say something in protest of my presence, when the fourth guy slapped her face with his dick.

“Come on,” he grunted. “Take it!”

She did, even as she glared pointedly at me.

I’d never been so hard, will never forget the dirty sex smell of that cellar, and her moans and whimpers as she bobbed her head back and forth over some guy’s dick, and her wail of pleasure as the bloke behind her started pumping harder and faster.

Lucy was saying something, and snaking her hand up my chest.

“... don’t mind sharing, do you?”

I stood there dumbly and shook my head. She made her way to Sanders and knelt at his feet.

“Good girl,” he brushed his hand affectionately through Lucy’s curls. She pulled him gently down by his collar and whispered something in his ear.

“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he laughed, then stood, pulling her up with him.

Just then, both men came on either end of Pansy. Like the ones who had left earlier, they got dressed, thanked Sanders, strolled away. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She hung her head down to her chest, still shaking from her latest orgasm.

“You can guess by now, that this,” he gestured to Pansy, “Was my surprise for you this weekend. You told me you don’t get the point of all the whips and chains, but tell me that this isn’t the hottest thing you’ve seen in your life - the snobby bitch from your childhood trussed up and being fucked like a two penny whore.”

He reached into his pocket, and like he had been reading my mind all night, he pulled out the leather leash and handed it to me. “It’s enchanted to make her do whatever you want. And in case the war hero in you has qualms, let me assure you that she loves this shite, lives for it. Consider her my gift to you for the rest of this weekend.”

And with that, he led Lucy out of the cellar, leaving Pansy and me alone.

-

I want to say that I cleaned her up, unchained her, and gave her the antidote to the potion. I always carry a special tincture with bezoar extract with me, a habit from my auror days. It was tucked away in the hidden fold inside my pocket, and all I had to do was pull it out and offer it to her.

Instead, I walked over to the lone leather chair, sat down, and watched her. She was curled into a ball now, turned away from me, no doubt avoiding my gaze. She was still trembling and I could guess that it was from the potion’s effects. I’d taken it myself years ago, and know firsthand the insatiable need to be touched. It led to a pretty memorable night with Parvati, but that’s a story for another time.

In my hand was the leather leash Sanders had given me. I fingered the little gold clasp that would link to her choker.

“Parkinson?” I said her name after some awkward silence.

She ignored me, though now she was rocking her pelvis back and forth a little, desperate for someone, me, to fill her. 

I finally gave in and gripped my cock through my pants. I was rock hard, and thanks to the earlier fuck I’d had with Lucy, I would probably last ages if I wanted to, fucking all of Pansy Parkinson’s holes. My mouth literally watered at the thought. 

I knew it was wrong. I knew she would hate me for it, but she already hated me, didn’t she? And how was I any worse than any of those other men who had already fucked her tonight? I’d be just another cock. And I’d make it good for her. I can do that if I try. 

“What gives, Weasley,” she snarled, jolting me from my thoughts. “Are you going to just sit there all night?”

“I might,” I said coldly.

She uncurled herself and shot me a glare. She was beginning to sweat, despite the coolness of the cellar. 

“Don’t be an arse,” she snapped.

I smirked at her, and stroked my cock slowly, teasing her. I watched her eyes fall to my crotch, savored how she licked her lips in anticipation.

“Just ask nicely,” I told her her.

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t say anything.

I got out of the chair then and stood over her. She was so beautiful, even with dried cum on her skin and hair, and red marks all over her body. Sanders was right. I was loving every minute of Pansy chained at my feet, loved that she was covered in filth from the rough gangbang I’d just witnessed, and that even though she was literally shaking in need, her pride was in the way of her asking for what she wanted.

I took my cock out and dangled it over her face. Her lips opened a little and her breath quickened. I loved the rise and fall of her chest, wanted desperately to squeeze her tits and slide my cock between them.

“Just ask for it,” I told her again, resting my cock against the opening of her parted lips.

The first little lick from her tongue is still one of the most erotic moments of my life. Pansy Parkinson was licking my cock and with a little push, I was inside her mouth, and just a little more, and I was gagging her throat. I held her head against my crotch till tears filled her eyes and then pulled out.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

“You are such a bastard,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said.

Then, I took out my wand and released her from the shackles.

“What?” she asked in surprise. “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” I said again, and sat back down in the chair. “You want more? You gotta do all the work.”

I thought she was going to slap me, and I would have deserved it.

“Or,” I told her. “You could just walk away.”

For a minute, I thought she would. I was sorely disappointed of course, but knew I had done the right thing. Fucking a drugged up, tied up woman was rape. And rape was wrong.

Then, to my relief, and shame that I wasn’t a better man, she practically lunged at me in the chair.

“I fucking hate you for this,” she snarled, even as she gripped my cock and aimed it at her pussy. 

I half-heartedly fumbled with her hands to stop her, and of course, I could have stopped her if I really wanted to. After all, I am at least twice her size. But then, her pussy was sinking down, wrapping itself around my cock and I couldn’t help but grip her hips and thrust up into her. Like I mentioned earlier, I’m big down there, and I could tell I was hurting her a little as she tensed over me. I should have stopped, but fuck, she was so hot and wet and messy, nasty with pussy juice and multiple men’s cum and so so needy, squirming over me, mewing and moaning. I should have stopped it, could have, but I didn’t want to. I rested my hands on her hips and let her bounce on my cock, let her squeeze my dick with her inner walls, and shake her tits in my face.

She was muttering something under her breath, and it took me a while to make out her words.

“Dirty fucking Weasley,” she was saying. “I always knew your cock would be big and dumb like you.”

“Never knew you’ve thought about my cock so much,” I shot back.

“Big, stupid oaf,” she sneered. “You think you’ve won, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

Then, I gripped her hips again and went back to thrusting up roughly inside of her, fast and hard and ruthless. 

Sanders was right. She loved this. She clung to my shoulders to steady herself, and for a moment I thought she might kiss me, before she turned her head to the side and collapsed against my chest. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she murmured.

I obeyed, kept thrusting hard as I could. When I felt she was close, I reached down between us and found the hard nub of her clit. She came apart completely, beautifully, as I pressed and rubbed. Her pussy throbbed around me and the rest of her went limp such that I had to wrap my arms around her to hold her up.

I gripped her by her shiny black hair and tilted her head back so she was forced to look up at me. I didn’t say anything, just savored the defeat in her eyes as I creamed in her cunt.

It didn’t take long for the self-loathing to set in. Yeah, she was Pansy Parkinson, who was still a raging bitch after all these years, but I had crossed a line I shouldn’t have. I pushed her off me, and she collapsed into a tired heap on the cold cellar floor.

“Bastard,” she said half-heartedly, but stayed down and closed her eyes. 

I tucked my cock back inside my pants, then reached into my pocket and found the tincture vial. I pulled the stopper from the small bottle and leaned forward and tipped the potent potion into her mouth.

Her eyes flew open and she shoved me away.

“What the fuck was that?” she snapped, spiting what she could out onto the cellar floor.

“Relax,” I said tiredly. “It’s tincture of bezoar.”

I expected her to be grateful. After all, I had relieved her of the potion’s painful arousal effects. Instead, a look of sheer panic came over her face, and she scrambled away from me all the way to the far wall.

“You idiot,” she screeched, and curled her body away from me and threw an arm up over her face.

“Don’t look at me!” 

I had never heard Pansy sound so panicked, except maybe that one time when she tried to hand Harry over to Tom Riddle. 

“What gives?” I snapped, annoyed that she was upset.

“Don’t look!” she cried again. 

Of course I looked, watched her distress in fascination as the makeup melted from her eyes.

“Give me your wand!” she demanded.

“No fucking way.”

“Give it here!” She was nearly in tears, still curled away from me, hands obscuring her face.

“So the potion took away your makeup. Big deal. I’ve seen you without make up before.”

“You really are such IDIOT,” she spat. “Accio Weasley’s wand.”

I felt my wand start to slip out of my pocket, but I easily accio’d it back.

“What gives, Parkinson?”

I held up my hands so she could see I meant no harm, and stepped slowly towards her.

Her eyes hardened then, and she dropped her arms and stood up proudly. 

It took me a second to realize what I had done. I had neutralized all her glamours with the potion, and well, she looked different, more like the girl from school.

I had to hand it to her for that haughty fucking pose she struck as I advanced towards her. There, on her face, was that pug nose I had teased her about all throughout our childhood. It wasn’t nearly as ugly as I remembered. Really, it wasn’t ugly at all. Maybe she had grown into it. Or maybe I had made her uglier in my mind over time, since she had been sonasty to me and my friends in school.My point, I suppose, is that she was still drop dead gorgeous. She looked younger without the heavy make up, more approachable, but definitely still the hottest girl I’ve ever been with. And Merlin, those tits, and that waist, and the flare or her hips into that delicious arse. 

“I don’t like my women under the influence of potions,” I said. 

“I’m not your woman,” she shot back.

Neither one of us mentioned her lack of glamours. I think it would have hurt her more somehow if I’d said something about her still being pretty without them. Or teased her about her initial distress. 

“No,” I said. “I suppose you’re not.”

I was less than an arm’s length away from her now and she didn’t move to stop me.

“Look,” I told her. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I know you would never actually want to be with me if Sanders wasn’t forcing you to-“

“He isn’t forcing me to do anything.”

“So fucking me was your idea then?”

“Greg and I are partners.”

“So where’s your name in the company byline?”

She didn’t say anything to that, and I could tell I had struck a nerve.

“Whatever, Weasley, should have known you’d be too vanilla to stick out the weekend.”

“What did you call me?”

“You heard me.”

I reached behind her head and gripped her by the hair again.

“Alright then,” I said, thumbing her plush lips with my other hand. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the leash, and clipped it to her necklace. 

“Don’t say I didn’t give you an out.”

* * *

**Author’s note: There’s more to come, already partly written. As always, I’m eager for feedback! Thank you for reading!!**

**xx**


	2. Chapter 2

Before I took her back to my room, I took my wand out and cast a too cold Aguamenti to rinse her off. 

She shrieked, quite understandably, at the icy jets of water that I aimed rather cruelly at her face and hair, then breasts (whose nipples hardened beautifully with the chill of the water), then stomach, then cunt. She really yelped when I moved the stream toward her clit, and slowly ran it down her pussy and against her arsehole. I was getting soaked by proximity, but I didn’t mind, preferring her misery over my own comfort.

“That’s as much of a shower you’ll be getting,” I told her when I was done.

“Vindictive git.” 

“Want to tap out?” I asked wryly. 

She flipped me off, still shivering, which brought a smile to my face. I portkeyed us to the suite on the estate that Sanders had allotted to me, and dragged her in front of the mirror in the en suite bathroom. 

She looked to the side to avoid her reflection, still trembling from cold.

“Come now,” I teased. “I thought a girl like you would love her own reflection. “Take a nice long look at yourself, Parkinson.” 

I felt a tingle of magic course through the leash, and after a second, she did look up and scrutinize herself. Such was the magic of that Sanders had handed to me. It occurred to me then that the leash and collar were likely dark artifacts, with similar properties as Imperio, and yes, I knew I should have put them down, but hadn’t she already consented? She’d all but goaded me into doing this to her. 

I watched her, savored the pouting of her lips and the unconscious straightening of her posture to make her reflection more palatable. But there was no way around it - she looked a fright. Her hair was a dripping wet mess in bad need of a brush, and her skin was marred by burgeoning bruises and goosebumps. 

“Like what you see?” I quipped. 

“No,” she snapped. “I don’t like looks of me standing next to the ugliest Weasley.” 

I knew she was only being spiteful. Still, though I was over ten years out of school, and rather a success now - I’d even been featured in Witch’s Weekly’s top 30 Bachelors under 30 - her words still wounded me on some visceral level. I glanced at my own reflection then. I suppose I looked a fright too, my hair matted and my bowtie askew, my damp dress shirt untucked, with Lucy’s lipstick smeared against the collar.

“This is what you’re getting off on, isn’t it?” she continued. “Hate fucking the pretty, rich girl who snubbed you in school?” 

“Ha,” I said, undoing my bowtie and shrugging out of my tuxedo jacket. “If it’s pretty I’m after, I would have gone for Daphne Greengrass, and last I heard, you’re broke as shite.”

I could practically see the steam coming out of her ears after that one. Before she could reply, I shifted so I was standing behind her, and slid my hands up her sides until my hands cupped her breasts. They were heavy, soft, perfect handfuls. The best part was the the quiet sigh she made when I squeezed, pressing my palms tight against her nipples.

“Then again,” I said against her ear. “Daphne never had tits like yours.” 

I wanted nothing more than to bend her over something and fuck her, but I had this odd urge to drag this out, partly because I was enjoying it, but also because I didn’t want to do anything too vanilla, as she had called me. So instead, I twisted her nipples until she hissed in pain. 

“Tell me,” I leaned forward so my lips were by her ear. “You fuck every bloke Sanders tells you to?”

She narrowed her eyes at me in the reflection. “Like I said,” she said shortly. “We’re partners. We decide on things together.”

“Ha,” I snorted. “Looks more like he tells you what to do, and you agree to his every whim.”

“What makes you think this wasn’t my idea?”

“Right,” I chortled. “Why don’t you go on and show me how much you want to fuck me then?”

Again, I felt the glimmer of magic coarse through the leash, followed by the small jolt the command sent through her. She only glared at me for a second before turning around and sinking to her knees.

I should have felt bad then. There was nothing in her body language that indicated that she wanted to pull my cock from my trousers, and it certainly wasn’t lust she looked up at me with when she gave my cock a few strokes before enveloping my tip in her mouth. I should have felt bad, but I didn’t, not really, not yet. If she was going to insist that she wanted this, I reasoned, then anything that happened from this point forward would be on her. Sound logic, I know. 

“That’s it,” I groaned. “I should have shut you up like this back in school.”

At this, she dropped a hand to my balls and squeezed them a little too tight, scraping her nails rudely against the sensitive flesh down there. 

“Careful, Parkinson,” I barked. When she didn’t yield, I tightened my grip on the leash till she was gagging. With my other hand, I held her by the back of the head, then thrust roughly down her throat. 

To her credit, she took it like a champ, which of course, made me thrust harder. 

“That’s a good little slut,” I sneered. “If only daddy could see his pureblood princess now.”

I turned us, and pulled her head slightly to the side so she could once again see her own reflection in the mirror. 

“Look,” I commanded, and of course then she had to. “I’ll be honest, Parkinson. You’re really not so pretty right now.”

There were tears streaming down her eyes, and her face was turning beet red from my cock blocking her airway. At some point, she began to push against my hips in a struggle for air, and even then, I forced my cock down her throat a few more times before letting go.

She collapsed into a heap at my feet, coughing, sputtering, gasping. I dropped the leash then, and let her breathe. What a gentleman, right?

“Stand up and bend over,” I said.

Without the leash’s magic controlling her, she hesitated. 

“Get moving, Parkinson. Wouldn’t want Sanders to know his pet is misbehaving, eh?”

“You really do still hate me, don’t you Weasley?” When she spoke, her voice was thin and raspy, like she’d been seriously choked. My bad. 

“This is nothing,” I told her. “I’m thinking, I call the ol’ Gryffindor quidditch team, and see who wants to have their way with you. Dean isn’t into the slutty type, but maybe he’ll make an exception for you. And Seamus well, he’d fuck anything, so he wouldn’t mind your used up holes.”

“You really are still such a bastard,” she said flatly. 

“Stand up,” I told her again. “And bend the fuck over.”

She was wobbly when she stood, which was unsurprising given everything Sanders and I already put her through tonight. But I wasn’t done, not by a long shot. 

Neither was she apparently. Instead of following my command, she gripped me by the lapels of my damp dress shirt and dragged me from the wash room. I caught the leather leash back into my grip, but let her walk me to the bed. 

“Eager are we?” I teased.

She pushed me down with surprising strength, and in retaliation, I yanked sharply on the leash so she was forced to fall forward onto me.

And then somehow, she had my wand in her hands, pressed lightly against my jugular. She must have fished it out from my slacks in the scuffle. Her lips split open into this terrible smile, the sort she’d sport back in school whenshe’d maneuvered her way into having the upper hand. She wore it rather frequently back when she was on Umbridge’s Inquisitor squad. But I wasn’t that clumsy teenage boy anymore, and anyway, I still had Sander’s leash in my hand.

“Relax, Ronniekins,” she purred, sitting back on her heels. “Just thought you’d like to have me in more familiar surroundings.”

With a few twirls of my wand, she sent nearly every object in the room twisting and stretching. The bed rose slightly and grew heavy oak posts, from which sprouted a canopy of deep red velvet curtains, just like the ones we had back at Hogwarts. Indeed the whole room, windows and walls included, warped and reshaped until it resembled my boyhood dormitory. I blinked and looked around, grudgingly impressed by her impeccable transfiguration of so many objects at once. 

When I looked back at her, she was no longer nude, but dressed in her Hogwarts uniform, Slytherin tie and everything.

“Now, isn’t that better?” she cooed, tossing my wand to the side. “Isn’t this the proper fantasy?”

I pushed her off me, leash and all. Something about this shift made me abruptly wary of her and Sanders and whatever twisted game they had sprung on me. Or maybe I was just sobering up.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked.

“This is all about the past for you, isn’t it?” she replied, her voice syrupy and dangerous. “Thought I would really take you back there.”

“I-“

“Poor, sniveling Ron Weasley,” she began in a sing-song voice. “Not quite as clever or popular as his older brothers. Not even as good at quidditch as his little sister. No, the only thing you had going for you was being sidekick to scarhead, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t call him that.”

“And you did finally get your bookworm girlfriend in the end, but couldn’t hold onto her, could you? Bet you never fucked her like you just fucked me.” Her eyes gleamed as she said this. “I‘m sure you wanted to though, dirty wanker. You must have stroked yourself every night in a bed just like this one, thinking about her proper little quim-“

“Shut up,” I snapped. “Don’t talk about my friends like that.”

“It was sweet really,” she continued, unhindered, her lips crooked and mocking in her onslaught. She rose up on her knees and inched closer. “The two of you walking around Hogsmeade, holding hands in front of the tabloids. Didn’t last though. I mean, are you good for anything really? Couldn’t bloody stick it out with the Aurors either, not even with the great savior of the wizarding world helping you along.”

I lunged are her, and pinned her beneath me. She laughed in my face, the bitch, even as I reached between her legs, flipped up her skirt, and slapped her bare cunt. I’ve never hit a girl, unless you count quidditch or sexy spanking, but I could feel my fingers flexing, itching to shut her up in awful, some violent way.

“Fuck, Parkinson, what the hell is your game here?” I sneered, slapping her cunt again. My fingers lingered, delving into her slit, probing for wetness. She was bone dry, completely at odds with how hard I‘d grown once more.

“Are you looking for my clit?” she asked snidely. “Merlin, no wonder you’re single.”

”I fucking know where your clit is!” I answered reflexively. Then, thinking better of it, I asked, “You sure you want this, Parkinson? You sure this was your idea?”

“Of course it was,” she replied smoothly, spreading her legs slightly to allow me more access.

“Maybe,” I prodded. “Or maybe you just do what Sanders tells you to. Maybe he pays you for it-“

“I’m not a prostitute, Weasley.”

“Right. So you’re his business partner then? Or is it more of a jewelry and arm candy sort of deal?”

Her body tensed beneath mine, and I could tell she wanted to push me off. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said shortly. “We’re partners in everything.”

If I didn’t hate her, didn’t love having her at my mercy, I would have eased off. Instead, I circled her pussy with gentle caresses, and the chit actually spread her legs further and started making these quiet little sighs. Maybe Sanders was right after all. Maybe she did live for this shite. 

And then, it hit me. “Wait,” I said. “Wow.” I paused and chuckled. “Don’t tell me you actually  love the bastard.”

She kept her cool, but I could tell I’d hit the nail on the head. 

“Wow,” I said again. “And let me guess, he loves you too.”

“This-“ I slapped her pussy again, and this time felt a smidge of wetness seeping from her slit. “You think this is love? Letting five blokes chain you up and jizz on your face?”

“He understands me. He understands my needs,” she replied, her voice softer. For the first time since I’d know her, she sounded unsure. It was almost enough for me to feel sorry for her.

“Conditioned you, more like it,” I muttered. “Sodding brainwashed you. Or is fucking me really one of your needs?”

She looked up with me with those pretty green eyes, and slowly snaked her hand between us and down against my hard-on.

“It’s getting late,” she said softly, “What’s it going to be, Ron? Will you or won’t you?”

I had so many opportunities to be a better man that night, but in the end, I wasn’t going to give up this chance to have her again, and she fucking knew it. She smirked and gave me this little eye roll as I impatiently tugged at the Hogwarts skirt she’d transfigured from Merlin knows what. I wanted her so bad, and she was there, laid out on a platter. She lay there pliantly as I undressed in record time and pulled her legs around my waist. She still wasn’t wet enough, not really, for me to enter her smoothly, so I had to rock in and out bit by bit to stretch her open. 

She didn’t do any of that over-the-top moaning and gasping that Lucy did. Quite the opposite, she had the gall to fake a yawn, and said something along the lines of, “I knew you’d be fucking vanilla.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I am,” I told her.

“Come  on ,” she said impatiently after some time, arching her pelvis up and gripping my hips to pull me deeper into her.

I ignored her, pinned her hands above her head and took my damn time rubbing her clit, teasing her tits, and pushing my cock just slightly further each thrust.

“Come  on ,” she said again, this time with more desperation to her voice. “Fuck me properly already.”

By then, her pussy was coating my cock with more than enough lubrication to slide all the way in, but it was nice to tease her, to watch her press her lips together and to feel her want in the tension of her body. I guess in some weird, spiteful way, I wanted to make this pleasurable for her, so she’d never forget how good it was with penniless, freckle-ridden Ron Weasley. 

Eventually, when I filled her completely, she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and relaxed her body against mine. I framed her face with my hands.

“Look at me,” I commanded. I’d long lost track of the leash at that point, but she obeyed without the coercion of magic. She gazed at me through her lashes and wrapped her arms around my neck. 

“They always like me to look at them.” I think she wanted to sound nonchalant but her words came out halting and airy, completely affected by the slide of my cock inside her.

“Fucking you would have been better back in school, I think,” I said, running my thumb against her plush lips. 

“And why is that?” she asked with a dry little laugh. “Is this another dig on how loose my cunt is?”

“No, your cunt is perfect,” I told her. “But if this is about taking you down a notch or two, well, you’ve done that just fine on your own in the last ten years.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, and eventually, she closed her eyes.

“Don’t wimp out on me now,” I pressed. “Where is the girl you used to be? The one who didn’t take shite from anyone?”

“Not now, Weasley,” she said, with an edge to her voice. “Just make me feel good right now.” 

She was rolling her hips against mine, squirming like she couldn’t get enough of me. Maybe it was seeing her like this without glamours, with the odd blemish on her face and the marks from the night’s earlier abuses still on her body, but I had her, I mean I really had her. I’ve tupped a lot of women in my day, including ones I’ve had meaningful relationships with, but fucking Pansy Parkinson like this was and always will be one of the most  personal  experiences of my life. I know that doesn’t make sense, not really, but it was just the two of us, pressed against each other. At some point, I brought my lips close to hers, and she didn’t turn away, so I kissed her tentatively and some juvenile part of me got a little sentimental when she kissed me back. I put off coming as long as I could, made her moan and whimper and quake around my cock. And afterward, I stayed inside her and gloated a bit in how she couldn’t quite catch her breath, and how tightly she still clung to me.

I must have passed out, because I woke up sometime later to the sound of running water. She wasn’t in bed with me any longer, so I presumed she was cleaning herself up. I checked the night stand, and to my relief, my wand was still there. The room had been returned to its’ normal state without the Hogwarts-themed transfiguration. She must have closed the drapes at some point, but the orange glow of dawn was beginning to show trough a small crack between the curtains. 

Was it morning already? How long had I been out? I felt the start of a nasty hangover, so I rose and rifled through my bag for a Pepper-me-up to take in the morning proper. 

I tried to go back to sleep, but the water was still running. Eventually, I got up and knocked on the bathroom door. When she didn’t answer, I went in, and there she was, knees curled up to her chest in the corner of the shower. She lifted her head to look at me when I came in, but she didn’t move to stand or anything.

“Erm,” I said. “You okay in there?”

She seemed to stare through me for a moment, then stood and turned off the water. 

“Yes,” she answered. “I lost track of time is all.”

She was so wobbly, I went to her reflexively to offer a helping hand. She took it, surprisingly. Her hands were cold in mine, and her body was covered in goosebumps again. I grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around her. Again, I was surprised that she let me. I know we’d just fucked, but helping her like this felt intimate in a different way, unnatural between two people who didn’t like each other much.

She reached up into her tangled mess of hair, and somehow pulled out a wand. I recognized it as hers from school - about 11 inches cherry oak, polished and glazed in lacquer. 

“Go back to bed, Weasley,” she said. “I need to fix a few things.” She motioned down to the marks on her body.

“You had your wand all along?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, well, would have ruined the fantasy, wouldn’t it? If you didn’t think you had total control?”

She was already tapping the marks on her body, efficiently healing them with small mutters of charms. She really was quite an adept witch, and quite ambitious too, or was back in school anyway. What the hell was she doing with the likes of Sanders? 

“Let me,” I offered, feeling oddly tender towards her when she struggled to reach the bruises on her back. 

“Don’t be silly. I’ve seen your hand at healing spells.”

“I’ve gotten better at them,” I insisted.

“Go back to bed,” she said again. “I... just need a minute.”

I laid awake on the bed, waiting for her, or tried to anyway. The next thing I knew, I was coming to again, my mouth cottony and foul with hangover, and the rest of me knackered from too little sleep. Someone - a house elf - was drawing the drapes, and chirping something about if I’d like to join Ms. Pansy and Mr. Greg for brunch on the veranda.

That’s it really. That was my weekend at Sanders. I didn’t go to brunch - didn’t think I could stomach watching their dynamic in the light of day. I had this twisted image in my mind of Pansy kneeling at his feet, licking his hand, letting him hand her leash off to the next guy in line. I threw my things into my trunk, left a quick scribble for the house elf to give to Fred, and portkeyed home before the little creature finished drawing my bath. 

-

We didn’t sign with Sanders. Fred seemed to get it, or at least knew better than to pry after I yelled at him about sharing Potion 84 with the bastard.

“I thought it was for him, Ron, honest. I didn’t think he’d-“

“Yeah, well, he did,” I snapped. 

“You’re right,” he nodded agreeably. “We can’t be part of something like that.”

And that was that.

For years before that weekend, I’d fantasized about bumping into her. I’d be in some dapper suit and look down at her no-longer designer robes and rub my success in her face. I wanted that vindication or petty revenge or whatever you want to call it, and thanks to Sanders, I got to have it. I’m ashamed to say it felt just as good as I thought it would, at the time anyhow. 

The thing is, maybe ten years ago, I’d have looked at her situation with Sanders and been like yeah, sounds about right, serves the slag right. I’d put that night in my spank bank and not feel bad about getting off on how tight her throat was around my cock as she blew me, or how sexy she was splayed open to me, her breath against my neck, her perfect tits bouncing to my thrusts. 

The truth is, I did love that night, and yeah, I know I’m a fucking scumbag for it. Sure, she was always a bit of a cunt in school, but we were kids back then, and I wasn’t exactly a prince myself. It wasn’t right that she’d be some arsehole’s plaything, and it certainly wasn’t like her to not fucking know better. It didn’t feel great to follow this line of thinking, so for the most part, I went back to my normal routine, and did my best to never think about Pansy Parkinson and how I was just one more bloke to fuck her over.

-

**Author’s Note: **That’s all I’ve got for this story. There may be a sequel, but I have so many unfinished projects, I feel a bit guilty about starting something new. 

Thank you, thank you to my lovely beta PartyLines for giving this a once over even when she doesn’t feel well. And thank you to you lovely readers for the lovely reviews and kudos. They mean more to me than you know!

xoxo,

bourbonrain


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